Sweet is Mixed with Salty
by Marilena
Summary: She is unique in her ninja clumsiness. He knows. Their relationship is stuck in an evolving stage. That's why fate decides to land them a strong blow. Literally speaking. -Reeve x Yuffie-


_A/N: I don't own Final Fantasy VII. I love my beta, Novocain, and I Tuoi Fiori by Etta Scollo. _

_Feedback is greatly appreciated._

EDIT: Our _beloved_ site decided to make our lives a little harder by disallowing dashes as scene breaks. Each paragraph in this story was originally sperated from the next one with a single dash. It is not one big scene, but I refuse to use the "horizontal ruler" (the only option offered by the site), because I don't like the aesthetic result. So sue me. :P

Sweet is Mixed with Salty

Even as she walks down the trashiest part of Midgar, she can hear the plotting, restless whispers among the other, louder sounds of havoc on a big city night after she passes. She kicks a half-rotten banana peel out of her way in annoyance and picks up her speed, not bothering to look over her shoulder.

o

All it takes is one miscalculation for what they built to crumble and envelop them in the wreckage, like the dull artificial light the masses have always been showered with under the plate. She wonders if the WRO misplaced its bet and the people of this world have always secretly needed a ShinRa, a ShinRa president, or a ShinRa company to fear.

o

If the metallic rustle of chains and rowdy laughter approaching her quickly is any indication, then the answer to her musings is _yes_. They have failed unexpectedly, without prior warning or further ado. She sighs and fumbles with her pocket for a moment before drawing out her ninja stars.

o

She is at his doorstep exactly twelve minutes later, completely unscathed. Reeve opens his door, and in an instant he has clutched her elbow and half-dragged, half-ushered her inside. The door closes before she can blink.

o

They talk like they always do. Reeve is good at speaking, but she doesn't care. He is also a rare listener, something Yuffie cares about more and more with each passing day.

o

He is worried. His face is marred with brand new lines and his eyes are shifty. She is worried, too. He tells her of the new developments - suspicious this, suspicious that. More gangs of rogues are roaming the streets, but she knows that already. He tells her why they can no longer meet at the disorganized headquarters, and he frets about the missing employees. She reaches out and pats his shoulder.

--things will get better-- she says. --now, let's make delicious dinner and lure our friends in with the smell of crunchy chocobo wings.--

He smiles. --don't blame me if we lure in a furious mob of hungry slum residents instead -- he says and flips his cell open.

o

He drinks in the mouth-watering scent of grilled chocobo wings like a child. Yuffie winks at him before wincing as soon as she turns around to look for a spatula. She can't stand chocobo wings.

o

Nobody shows up. Cloud and Tifa think it is late and are afraid for the children, so they excuse themselves.

o

They end up eating alone in front of Reeve's grand TV. He looks calmer. Yuffie tries to munch her mouthful and look pleased.

o

In a way, she is.

o

The next day, Yuffie contacts her father. They need a change of policy, she decides.

o

Two very busy months later, things have settled down. The crisis is far from over, but at least they can operate at WRO Headquarters again. Everyone is relieved. Reeve is not at his house when she visits him, bringing a small pack of sugary, homegrown Wutaian apples. She visits him twice more before getting the hint that he is too busy for her company and sugary apples.

o

She barges into his office during a meeting. A short guy with a wart of respectable size on his chin chokes on his coffee when the petite ninja threatens to drag Mr. Tuesti outside by his gay-grey collar. The entourage watches, shocked, as Mr. Tuesti collects himself and, indeed, walks outside, trying to look as dignified as a man of his stature following a mumbling, grunting, fist-clenching chit of a girl can.

o

She points an accusing finger at his forehead, and he laughs at the effort she has to put in to reach a formidable height.

--you should have been a ballerina-- he says. --i would take a picture of you.-- She almost blushes but doesn't because Reeve is quick in his compliments and even quicker in cancelling them. Sure enough: --i'd send it to the bio engineering department to determine the species and level of mutation.-- She smacks him on the chest three-fourths as hard as she is capable of. She tries to smack him again, but he just holds her wrists and grins down at her. --you know you love me-- he says this time before pinching her cheek lightly.

o

She calls him a bastard, but it is an empty insult. She realizes that she can't remember why she was angry. She calls him a bastard again.

o

--one day, i'll bring this whole place down and then i'll rebuild it ninja-style-- she says. --paint the walls green and _absolutely not_ blue because blue is freaking awful, and i'll put huge posters of me sticking my tongue out and totally owning a bunch of die-hard monsters in the elevators, and hey, hey, i'll even give you a picture of me in a tight bikini to put on your office desk so you can watch it while sipping tea and signing useless documents, and--

o

Reeve isn't listening. He is trying to not have his head squashed by the ceiling lamp, falling rapidly in the chaos insinuated by the explosion. Yuffie is stunned until he grabs her wrist and pulls. They can't see much, but they run.

o

The terrorist attack is well-planned. From the outside, the whole building looks like it is standing only just, like a clumsy kid dancing on its toes, before collapsing. The dust will take days to settle, and the last man - Elijah Sunday from Labs - will be retrieved broken and stiff from the ruins two days later.

o

He doesn't know when exactly it happened, but at some point her hand slipped away. He puts a trembling palm on the gaping wound that is the right side of his face and crawls away from the crackling, bone-scouring heat of the fire and the thudding sounds that the falling pillars make when they hit and shake the ground.

o

--mr. tuesti, you shouldn't be getting up yet!-- Soft hands press him back down on the mattress. --how is your head injury?-- It is the worried voice of a nurse.

--i'm fine. where…?--

Wince.

o

Another wince as he looks at the largely blackened remains of a young woman. He shakes his head and the sheet covers her face again, granting peace to the dead and the living alike.

--not her-- he croaks. The other man nods in understanding.

o

They continue their morbid walk. _Not her - not her._

o

She is the next white sheet. Reeve doesn't remember much after that.

o

They all bring forget-me-nots. They can almost hear her squealing in delight through the soil - under their feet - in their hearts.

o

Reeve leaves that night. He doesn't remember much of that time, either, except for a fleeting memory of a decision. His walls would be painted green. The most blinding shade of green.

o

He returns home for the first time the next day, only to find that someone sneaky has broken in recently and left some sweet apples and a note on his kitchen table.

_I made these. They are great, and they will send you to the toilet before you can say "ninja". If that's not enough, I'm on my way to kick your sorry butt right now. Oh, and make tea for me tonight. Lots of tea. The caramel flavored kind, not that super gross jasmine of yours. And eat my apples. Good? Good. I must go now. See ya soon!_

_Love and materia, _

_Yuffie_

­-

As he puts the kettle on the fire, he takes one of the Wutaian apples in his hand. It is round and soft and looks so unbearably sweet that he can't help it. He takes half of the apple in one bite, partially to taste it and partially to stifle a traitorous sound.

o

Sweet is mixed with salty.

o

And he vows he will paint the world green.


End file.
